


Five Secrets from an Art Portfolio

by escritoireazul



Category: Baby-Sitters Club - Ann M. Martin
Genre: During Canon, F/F, Post-Canon, Yuletide Treat, five things, nonlinear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:54:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21923242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/escritoireazul/pseuds/escritoireazul
Summary: Claudia Kishi knew one thing for certain (well, many things, but this was an important one): there was a psychology to portfolios. If you knew how to look, you could uncover an artist’s secrets tucked into every page.
Relationships: Claudia Kishi/Ashley Wyeth
Comments: 13
Kudos: 25
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	Five Secrets from an Art Portfolio

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Piscaria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Piscaria/gifts).



> Thanks to my beta.

Claudia Kishi knew one thing for certain (well, many things, but this was an important one): there was a psychology to portfolios. Artists gave away far more than their talent when they allowed people to look. The level of skill revealed was not the only -- or sometimes even the most -- important thing; the individual pieces people chose, the order in which they were presented, the repetition of color or style or subject … Claudia could tell a lot about someone from their portfolio.

If you knew how to look, you could uncover an artist’s secrets tucked into every page.

1\. Portrait of Artists in Abstracts (2007)

> The oil painting filled most of one of the gallery's walls, at least six feet across and nine feet tall. From a distance, it was a swirl of color and sharp-edged lines jagged across the page. Lightning bolts, almost, with the feel of a brewing storm. From up close, each tiny section was a piece of a portrait, a dark, gleaming eye here, the curve of a breast there, a piece of black hair twisted around a finger, the trailing end of a blonde braid.

Claudia stood several feet away, in that center space between those who looked close and those who retreated to observe from a distance, removed.

Pictures of the painting, in a portfolio, one large and many macro to reveal the details, would not do it justice. Flat on a page, there was skill enough, but it would show none of the nuance and depth of emotion of the original. In person, there were layers of paint, uneven, scratched away in this corner, built up in that. Torn paper covered until the words beneath were a shadow.

She wrapped her arms across her stomach as she looked, drinking it in. The intensity made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She stood alone in the crowd at the gallery opening, disguised in plain clothes, her black hair a knot under a dark beanie, all her jewelry stripped away. She wanted to see without being seen.

The portrait looked back, and she felt broken open, all of her art and all of her emotions strewn in front of her, there to be seen.

2\. Beloved #1 (1989)

> The sculpture was on the smaller side compared to most of the display, less than a foot in height, and narrow. It looked not much at all like the curve of a woman’s cheek, but also very much so, with the hint of eyelashes just brushing as an eye closed. The artist had not smoothed away her fingerprints and knife strokes from the back of the piece, but the front was carefully done.
> 
> Soft perfection, there in the front, gentle curves and tender feelings, and at the back, a sort of longing in the lingering touch.

Claudia had not chosen it for the show; her work for the gallery didn’t extend that far, not yet, but she knew, the moment she saw it, how the light should fall, where it needed to be placed, how it should be centered.

At the opening, Claudia was caught up in congratulations for her own work. She saw Ashley only once, across the room. Ashley stared at her a long moment; Claudia felt the weight of her attention and shivered.

It was certainly a portfolio piece and prize-winning, but a not too small part of Claudia wanted to keep it hidden away for her eyes only. There was too much in it, too much of her and of Ashley, and of what lingered between them.

3\. Beloved #2 - Work in Progress (2009)

> Half-finished, it was a far cry from how it would look complete. Many little pieces spread across the workspace, but the bulk of the table was taken up with a large block of clay, two feet wide and four feet tall. The weight of it would pull people in, gravity in the slow curves, but like this, scattered, it still had its own draw.

Claudia sat at her own worktable, where the setting sun fell across her sketchbook. The room was quiet but for the quick scratch of her pencil and the sound of knife on clay. A piece slipped off the block; Ashley let it fall to the floor.

When Claudia looked up, she caught Ashley watching her, eyes narrowed, lips tight. She was intense in her art, always, both more and less than she was at thirteen.

Claudia rested her chin on her hand and looked back. It took several long minutes before Ashley noticed. Her cheeks flushed, and she left a streak of clay across her temple when she brushed back a strand of hair that escaped from her braid.

Claudia could feel the weight of her gaze for a long time after she turned back to her sketchpad and the reference photo stuck to the top of the page.

4\. Unnamed Skater in Motion (1991)

> A charcoal drawing stretched across both pages. The background was mostly trees done in quick, thin lines, more a hint of a shape than something detailed. The rest of the drawing focused on a girl, spinning, her face obscured by the long, dark hair that floated around her, lifted by her movements. Even in monochrome, her outfit was dramatic, diamond-patterned tights, a short skating skirt twirling around her hips, the jewels catching the light, an off-the-shoulder shirt that revealed the smooth lines of her back, the curve of her spine, thick and thin diagonal stripes caught in the fall of the fabric so real Claudia thought she might be able to feel it beneath her fingertips.
> 
> The girl’s arms were stretched out to either side, lifted just a little above horizontal, and it looked like she might take off into the air in just one second more.

Claudia’s hand hovered just above the page. She did not want to mar the charcoal with the oils on her fingers, to change the solid lines and smudged places that filled the pages. All their portfolios were on display in their classroom. Their assignment: review each portfolio as a whole, explain why they thought the artist had included those specific works in that precise order. Claudia had saved Ashley's for last, both because she still felt awkward around Ashley sometimes and because Ashley was by far the best artist in the class, and Claudia was intimidated.

She turned the pages slowly, gathering her thoughts, but everything flew from her mind when she found the charcoal drawing. For all its simplicity, it struck a chord in her that rang true. She could feel the cold air burning her lungs again, the flush that rose on her cheeks as steam from her hot chocolate curled around her face. The slight scratch of her ice skates as she turned and turned, circling the outdoor rink.

The flash of color, just at the edge of the page, nearly out of sight. Red gloves and the curl of long blonde hair.

When she’d stopped turning, Claudia had seen her sliding into the crowd. High school students and parents and little kids, all of them flushed and chilled and laughing, in high spirits over the long winter break.

“Ashley,” Claudia had called, but no one turned back.

She was cold, then, and empty, and aching.

She felt full now, warm from the inside out, and like she'd seen a secret Ashley hadn't meant to share.

5\. Woman, Nude, in Ecstasy (1997)

> The woman was clear, but the bed on which she reclined was not, only three or four quick strokes cut into the clay to give it shape. In contrast, the details of the woman were overwhelming: fine hairs along her vulva, the texture of her nipples perfect. Her head was thrown back, lips open, soft and inviting; her breath could have gusted out across them at any moment. Her fingers were long and thin, the base of one hand scarred from the slip of a glass cutter. Her stomach was soft, fine lines showed at the corners of her eyes and mouth. Her toes were curled tight.
> 
> Protests of the lewdity of the art kept the work from premiering in Connecticut.
> 
> The artist put a picture of it front and center in her portfolio.

Claudia fell back onto the pillows, gasping. She could still taste Ashley on her lips and tongue, and her body shook with tremors as Ashley slowly slipped her fingers out of Claudia. As Claudia watched, eyes wide, mouth open, Ashley licked herself clean.

Their apartment was more studio than living space, but their bed was large and comfortable, and Ashley nearly glowed in the early morning light. She’d woken Claudia with her mouth and fingers, as steady and skilled there as she was with her art.

Claudia reached for her, drew her close. Kissed her, their tastes mingling on her tongue.

Their collection of portfolios had grown, large books shelved in a neat, precise order for Ashley, haphazardly for Claudia. Their apartment smelled like turpentine and oil paint, wet clay and dark room chemicals, candy and the city, perfume and patchouli, wine and sex. Two wardrobes were shoved against a wall, and clothes exploded from them, a riot of colors and fabrics and styles. Make-up filled boxes, stashes of chocolate could be found in the strangest of places, and in darkness or in light, the curves of their bodies fit together.

If you knew how to look, you could uncover an artist’s secrets tucked into every page of their portfolio, and, the same, in every inch of their home.


End file.
